In It So Hard
by im.sorry.pookie
Summary: Daryl gets a job promotion and needs to relocate. A new town, new friends and possibly love. All he wanted was a room to rent. Such a small quaint town, what could go wrong? *I do not own the walking dead and make no profit from this.*
1. Hard Work and Dedication

AU CARYL

Chapter One

Hard Work and Dedication

"What the hell ya expectin' me ta do, Merle? Turn it down? Fuck all that. I done worked too damn hard an' too damn long ta fuckin' throw it back in his face. They picked me. Don't kno' why, but they did. Don't see what the fuckin' issue is, seein' as ya locked up for the next four fuckin' years. Ya lucky I told ya cockamamy ass what my plans were ta begin with. Coulda left ya sittin' an' wonderin' where I gone ta… Kinda how ya did me, all them times when I was growin' up. Took off wit' no care in th' world…"

Daryl Dixon was pacing back and forth along his back porch, smoking a cigarette as he argued with his dumbass brother on the phone. It was the same conversation they had been having for two months now, ever since his older brother had been sentenced to spend the next mandatory four years behind bars. Drug trafficking and manufacturing, the story - the same old same, as far back as he could remember. And Daryl remembered everything.

"I'ma leave the trailer as it is. It's done fuckin' paid for, worth three times as much as when I bought it! An' I told ya I'd keep up wit' th' lot rent so's they don't tow it away. I didn't even hafta leave it for ya. I coulda done sold the piece o' shit an' say's worry 'bout findin' ya own pot ta piss in when they let's ya out."

He shook his head and took an aggravated puff, relishing that soothing effect of the nicotine, the smoke filling his lungs. Cloud billowing upon exhalation, the redneck ran a weary hand over the scruff of his cheek.

"Do whatever ya feel like, don't giv' a shit, Merle. Haul it off when ya git out! Hell, burn the fucker up, couldn't care fuckin' less. Ya don't like the neighbors; well they ain't too fond o' you neither. Good lord, Merle. Ya done driven me crazy."

Sitting back against the railing, he crushed the cigarette into an old coffee tin which served as an ashtray for the back deck. With the cell phone pressed to his ear, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to his brother's opinion, once again, about Daryl's new job.

"Ain't no cock suckin' office detail, dickwad. I'ma be in charge o' th' whole fuckin' facility. . . . . .Don't kno', Merle, maybe cause they realizin' I've done fuckin' worked my ass off for 'em since I were jus' eighteen years old. . . . . .An' whose fault is that, brother? Yours! Couldn't keep away from the damn drugs, could ya? Always wantin' one more cookie from the cookie jar. .I ain't never did them shrooms on my own, ya put those in my food, dipshit! Givin' me pot brownies when I were jus' a kid, knowin' I'd eat whatever th' fuck ya gave me coss you're my big brother . . .Weren't my problem ta babysit ya lazy carcass no more, an' someone had ta pay th' goddamn bills an' keep food in the fuckin' fridge ta feed ya lazy ass an' feed them nasty ass diseased skanks ya always kept 'round here. . . . . . . . . Ain't matterin' none, Merle, 'M already packed up an' ready ta relocate. . . . .Nah, don't kno' yet, ain't startin' till the plant opens at the beginnin' o' June – so, two months. . . . . . . Ya jus' do your fuckin' time an' work your fuckin' shit out, brother, ain't dicussin' this no more. Gave ya plenty o' chances ta straighten out, ya got what ya paid for this time. Ya goddamn greed done got th' best 'o ya an' I ain't feelin' sorry for ya one damn bit. Ya wanted ta help them fool tweeker buddies ya were mixed up with make meth, well, look where it gotcha?"

Daryl lit another cigarette as he listened.

"Ain't Buckwheat, its Buckhead. That's where the plant is, stupid, Buckhead, Georgia… How many fuckin' times I gotta repeat maself? Prison makin' ya go full stupid on me? . . . . .Yeah, been spendin' my weekends up there overseein' th' last of the preparations. . . . .Well, s'posse I'ma try an' find a house ta rent or a room or some shit from someone in town. . . .Nah ain't wantin' ta buy 'til's I kno' I'ma do my job well enough ta wanna stick 'round an' they ain't gonna change they damn minds coss they tend ta shuffle folks whenever an' wherever they damn well please. . . .We been over this a million times. . . .Mamet offered me th' job an' I took it. Been workin' for Blake goin' on twenty-three years now an' I fuckin' earned it. . . . .Good lord, Merle, I told ya I'd keep money on your fuckin' account. When have I ever not? Shit, your pissin' me off. 'M kinda pissed a lot. How many good things come my way an' how many times ya act like it ain't shit? Ya takin' it all for granted.. An' maybe I ain't gonna be 'round for ya th' next few years… Nah, I ain't you."

He pushed away from the railing and started pacing again.

"Change my number, an' nev'a take another call from ya ev'r again," Daryl sighed, mournful and despondent. "My bank statement ain't non'ya business, Merle, jus' kno' I'll make sure ya have plenty o' cash for your fuckin' commodities, whatever th' fuck it is.. so ya can git ya ramen an' tha' other shit ya like . . . . .Meetin' with some lady t'morrow ta find out what they got available in town. Stop in an' hav' som' lunch. They got this bar an' grill tha' ain't lookin' half bad, steak an' salad an' all tha'. . . . . .. Yeah, git ya ass ta count, call me back brother. Bye."

Daryl ended the call and sighed as he put his cell phone in his pocket. The angry red glow of his cigarette burned brightly as he inhaled a deep lungful of smoke. Talking to Merle always put him in a damn foul mood and this time was no fucking exception. He'd been wary of his job promotion at first. Hell, uprooting all his possessions and not knowing a single miserable person confined within Buckhead town limits, contributed an even heavier strain to melancholic nerves. Daryl Dixon liked familiarity, he enjoyed consistency, and change wasn't something the redneck handled very well. But he'd earned this new job. He'd bled for it over the years, and put his whole life against it to make something for himself. Putting the name Dixon and his daddy's reputation behind him as he painted a whole new canvass of just him and his accomplishments. The town no longer stared at him like he might blow up and stomp someone's ass just for crossing his path on the sidewalk. Daryl was a quiet man. A reticent man who stayed away from disorder and trouble or until trouble found him and it was usually in the form of some stupid bullshit his brother got mixed up into.

Sure, some of the folks around still whispered and swapped gossip when things were dull and topics to discuss were limited. The white trash, good-for-nothing pieces of shit Dixon clan. Mama Dixon, done burned herself up with a bottle of wine and a cigarette, lazing around in bed too drunk to get up. Papa Dixon, the town belligerent, starting brawls and beating the fuck out of people for no apparent reason other than he could. And oh, lookie there, Merle Dixon, the oldest boy, high on dope and strung out on crank and pills. Ain't they the top examples of our fine, established town. The youngest boy, Baby Dixon, looks like he has another black eye – Can't believe he's still in school; maybe he ain't as worthless as his kin.

Daryl heard it all, he wasn't deaf and dumb like most of them had thought. Hard work right out of high school put an end to people and their trash talking. When his daddy finally left town and Merle rode off into the sunset right behind him a few years later, Daryl had been free. His brother came back from time to time, and during the instances Merle lingered, the littlest Dixon boy had grown into a man and someone who had earned the respect of the people of the community. Wasn't too often one could grow out from under such an onerous coat of tarnish and bad luck with a family name that brought nothing but disgust and loathing from the folks avoiding your every move.

Merle had reappeared back into to his life permanently about two years ago. Preaching and going on about how he'd found God and changed his life because he saw the Lord after he witnessed their daddy get gunned down in a bar fight. This had been swallowed with a grain of salt. Daryl hadn't even asked about a funeral or the details. If Merle said the man who raised them had died, then he had. Daryl figured Merle had found God during a boozed-up pill popping bender or some shit, and sure enough, not even a week went by and Merle was strung out on crank again. He'd let his brother move into his trailer but he sure as shit weren't gonna have him selling drugs out of his place. No way, no how. So, between the comings and goings of his brother's druggie compadres, were the late-night poundings on the door of some half-cocked skag flashing her pussy for a fix. Daryl hated these mortification's more than any-fucking-thing else. He'd been putting up with his brother's whores for years and his daddy's even longer. Daryl's entire childhood consisted of whores, tweekers and - he didn't wanna think about that right now. Nah - they couldn't seem to comprehend that he wanted to vomit at the very sight of them. Meth gave the really nasty ones green teeth like they had a thick slimy layer of lake algae coated on them. Most of them had needle marks and ugly purple veins with yellow pot marks, oozing some kind of diseased shit which made his stomach churn up bile into his mouth. Daryl flipped his shit one night when one of his brothers' floozies had found her way into his bed, rubbing up on his cock just about to put her mouth on him. His dick went limp as soon as he woke up and he threw the dumb cunt out of his room by her hair, and he went ranting and raving on Merle. They had a tumble, okay, a fist fight -, and Merle ended up outside in a tent for a month. It didn't put an end to the whores showing up at all hours on any given day, but it did stop them from going into his room.

Then about six months ago his brother got caught up in some more shit and now his ass was in prison. Story of his fucking life. Ain't that what life is? Stories and more stories, until you lose yourself in them? All jumbled together until you can't remember what life was before? Daryl felt old. Tired. Worn out and just – lost.

Ruminations dissipated, long ago miseries of a life no longer. Never forgotten, no. Yet always lingering. Hissing, Daryl dropped the butt into the coffee tin, eyes squinting and visage twisting in disgust at the smell of burnt filter. Light footfalls, Daryl padded inside his trailer home, sliding the glass door shut and locking it. All his worldly possessions and collectables, things he'd kept throughout the years, all packed up, faced him as he stood and stared out at familiar surroundings. Out of everything, nothing churned his gut for pause, and nothing hinted to a strangled urge of repression. Nothing at all, kept the redneck in his hometown. Haunted eyes languish, ultimately, and effloresce. Shadows that linger, eventually fade. If only he knew the unknown.

"All I ev'a want'd was ta git th' fuck outta here, an' I'ma do it… I ain't stayin'. Change, change is good when it counts."

A mewling sound met his attentive ears and he felt the silky feel of fur rubbing against his bare leg.

"Ain't'na leave ya behind neither, ol' boy." Daryl stooped low to pick the feline up into his arms. "We a team, ain't tha' right, Cat?"

The black furred tom had adopted him several years ago and Daryl never had the heart to send him away after he had made sure no one else was missing him, asking around the trailer park heedfully knocking on doors and putting up signs. So, they were a pair now, and the cat took care of him just as much as Daryl took care of it. It was funny, how lonely the hunter realized he was when the animal suddenly appeared in his life. Daryl hadn't exactly named him and just simply called him Cat.

Going to the couch he eased his frame down, an ache in his back that only recently started, and the cat turned a few times and settled on his stomach. Flicking at the remote, he channel surfed until he came to some sitcom he vaguely remembered he enjoyed, and sat there idly stroking at the fur ball resting so serenely, purring and rumbling his cat song, luring Daryl into a lethargic state of peace.

_Plant Director, _that's me now.

When he had turned eighteen the plant had just opened and Daryl had just graduated from high school. It specialized in crop fertilization and had helped pull the small, floundering Georgia community out of its recession. It produced all natural, and chemical by-products and it employed over twelve hundred workers from various towns in the area. It was about twenty miles from where he lived, but Daryl was grateful to work out of town. Just four months previously he had found a yellow slip of paper hanging from his locker denoting a meeting with the Plant Director, Milton Mamet. Daryl had been a daytime Production Manager at the time and when he was told he was being rewarded for his hard work and dedication, he had been flabbergasted. They were giving him his very own plant to oversee. It was a much smaller facility, and was three hours away. He accepted the job with little forethought. It wasn't the staggering pay increase or the less strenuous work load which had intoxicated him to the idea of it all. It was that _he_ had done this. Daryl Dixon had accomplished something no one else in his family ever had, a prestigious career and a respected reputation with his employer. He smirked lazily as he remembered that day it had all taken place, and the dread he had felt when he saw that slip of paper hanging from his locker.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

_Christ._

There was a light yellow slip of office paper taped to his rusted, piebald work locker. Having just punched in at the time clock, seeing this simple, outwardly ordinary sight instilled a dread attached to a deep sense of foreboding which plucked at every nerve ending connected to his brain. Of course it was yellow; the plant owner didn't use pink slips.

Daryl stood staring at the thin, narrow strip of doom and in an unconscious gesture, he started chewing on his thumbnail. An old lunch pail swung from his other fist, stowed within just a basic cold cut sandwich, a peach and a thermos of strong black coffee.

"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath, stopping in front of the locker.

Grabbing at the note quickly, he glanced around to see if there was any of his crew lurking nearby. Spotting no one, he read the scribbled inscription and then glanced at his wristwatch. Sighing heavily, he wadded the slip up and shoved it into his pocket. Hasty fingers made a quick job of the combination, one he had been using for more years than he cared to remember, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he opened the locker. He wondered for a moment if he should even bother putting his lunch pail inside. Shaking his head, he set it inside, grabbed his goggles, his gloves and his safety helmet. Placing the helmet on, he stretched the goggles around it to be eclipsed over his eyes later. _If there is a later,_ he thought morosely, taking the thick work gloves and concealing them out of sight in the same pocket which hid the yellow note.

The plant was loud, even at six in the morning being as it was a twenty-four hour a day operation, the machinery from within the main fertilizer building was booming and buzzing, blocking out any kind of pleasantry from the outside world. Daryl Dixon had been roaming this environment for the past twenty-two years. The last five as one of the first shift Engineer/Production Managers. A crew of one hundred men and women applied their various skills in his sector which he overlooked, expedited, and maintained. He had fairly good working relationships with each and every one of them. He knew all of their names, their respective spouse's names, significant others and had been invited to picnics and attended many children's birthday parties over the years and most of this was before his promotion to Shift Manager. It was honest to say Daryl enjoyed his job, and was content with his lot in life. Yet the slip in his pocket, which he imagined was sentient and breathing, could end it all with two ordinary words, but devastating if said together.

_You're fired._

The walk to the Personnel Building was quick, and once he entered the quiet lobby he approached the secretary behind the plastic partition. The woman glanced up from a document and smiled tiredly up at him.

"Can I help you?" The woman's voice reflected her tired demeanor but it was pleasant and helpful, as she smiled out at him.

He cleared his throat, and nodded. "Daryl Dixon, I have a meetin' with Mr. Mamet scheduled at 6:15."

"He's waiting for you Mr. Dixon. Go on back and I'll let him know you're on your way. Just enter by that door there to your right."

"Thank ya, ma'am," Daryl inclined his head, and turned to push through a heavy white door. It closed just as heavily behind him and he paused as a moment was taken to gain his bearings back.

Over the years there had never been a single time which he had been summoned to the Plant Director, Milton Mamet. When he had been promoted to Shift Engineer, they had only taped a white slip of paper to his locker and his pay checks reflected the hefty monetary increase. There was no meeting, no administrative comradely handshake to accommodate his promotion, just a slip of paper hanging nondescriptly at his locker. That's how they did it here. A woman from the corporate plant in Woodbury had come in for just one afternoon to familiarize him with his new duties, and she had departed before the day was over. Waste of a trip, Daryl had thought, and again, he was struck with how impersonal his promotion had been. It didn't matter in the end, he hated forced conversations and felt uncomfortable around the big dogs that blew in from time to time to critique and dictate how things should be handled. He didn't even remember the woman's name.

Gathering his wits, thick soled black work boots carried him along the nauseatingly yellow tinted corridor, so familiar in contrast to the note buried in his pocket. _Irony, _he thought, scowling as he thrust his hand into his pocket, past his gloves, to crumble up the wad of paper even more.

Soon, the last door with a brass name plate depicting MILTON MAMET in shiny onyx lettering, informed him he had reached his destination. The door opened just as knuckles applied a third soft thump, and an informally dressed male greeted him.

"Good morning, Mr. Dixon, I thank you for your immediate arrival. I'm Milton Mamet." He extended his hand, and Daryl promptly shook it.

He nodded awkwardly, not knowing how to rightly express displeasure in such a spontaneous meeting towards an impending dismissal. How did people deal with this kind of shit? Thankfully accept it? Smile and nod, and be on his way? He felt too old to start over. Twenty some years was too long. If he did allow such notions to be articulated, he was sure the stiffly bodied man before him would have him thrown from the premises. Daryl wanted to turn and bolt.

"Yeah, came soon as I saw the - uh, the slip Mr. Mamet."

He smiled lightly, "Please, address me as Milton, Mr. Dixon. No need for such formalities."

"Call me Daryl," he responded, and Milton let his hand go and indicated to a chair in front of his desk.

"Please have a seat then, Daryl, and we can move right along." Milton pushed his glasses upwards and seated himself as Daryl did the same. The man folded manicured hands together in front of him and seemed to be assessing Daryl in some kind of scientific fashion.

Milton didn't venture out much into the main buildings, and Daryl had ever only spotted the soft-spoken man in his area perhaps two or three times over the last five years, before that, he had only seen him at a distance as he oversaw the plant. They had never spoken to one another, however. Not uncommon practice, Daryl has his own superior who he reported to. This enlightened rumination suddenly grappled with him. The second shift manager had spoken numerous times on what an annoying little pest Milton was. Daryl always shrugged this information away, as he listened, but never once had a comment of his own to make. Mamet had never made a point to annoy or even step foot in Daryl's surroundings. Now, he was wondering why.

"Do you like your job, Daryl?" Another push to his glasses.

_Fuck. I goddamned knew it._

Shifting in the chair, he nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Are you happy with what you do here?"

"Ain't nothin' else I can see myself doin', so yeah, been very happy doin' it Mr. Mamet."

"Milton."

"Milton." He corrected, fighting the urge to just ask what the fuck this was all about.

"How long have you been employed with us?" Milton asked in a manner which stated he was already aware of just how long Daryl had been collecting his paychecks.

"Goin' on twenty-three years now," he replied, shifting in his seat again.

Milton nodded to himself, and with a slight move of his hands, he opened a folder and began studying it, the man's lips pursing in thought, every few seconds.

"You started years ago, before I was hired, Daryl. You began your employment with us in February of 1987 with your elder brother Merle Dixon. Merle was fired two years later in 1989 for working while intoxicated. It says here Merle left your hometown soon after." Milton glanced up, pushed his glasses up again, and waited for some kind of response. "The Plant Director preceding myself notated that. If you're curious."

"Yeah, so? What's my brother gotta do with all this?"

"Directly, nothing at all," he glanced back down and flipped through several sheets of paper.

"In twenty-two years you have never phoned in sick, requested time off nor had any reprimands given, verbal or written." Milton spoke in a bewildered tone, and glanced at Daryl again. "Are you impervious to illness?"

"What?" Daryl smiled a little, his face contorted in confusion.

"Twenty-two years, and not a single call in? That's highly uncommon in any manner of business, commercial or otherwise and I just wonder if you have an exceedingly fine-tuned immune system."

"Take care o' myself, don't git sick." Daryl said plainly, shrugging his shoulders, confusion on where this line of questioning was headed.

The man nodded, seemingly content with his answer and moved on to his next question. "And why is it, in your opinion, you have never been reprimanded or written up for insubordination?"

Again, he shrugged. "Do the job, do it right, an' no one gits confused. Ain't hard to do if ya jus' do the work."

Milton had no expression on his face as he averted his gaze back to the folder. "I see."

Daryl fought the rise of his hand to chew on his cuticles.

"Do you have family besides your brother, Daryl? I can't seem to find anyone else on file here. You're not married?" He looked up again.

"Ain't no one else 'cept Merle. Ain't hitched, ain't never gonna be hitched."

"Girlfriend, a woman you see regularly – a man, perhaps?"

"No, no and uh, no." he said currishly, darting blue gaze glaring at an unaware Milton Mamet. "I'm alone. I live alone wit' a cat, it's jus' me." Why was his personal life brought into question? Whose business was that?

"Parents?"

"Dead."

"So I can presume you have no children either?"

Scoffing impatiently, he nodded. "Yeah, ain't got no kids."

"No kin, whatsoever, besides your brother Merle?"

"No, I done told ya, ain't no one else my kin 'cept Merle." It was difficult, but Daryl had succeeded in keeping his tone civil, however, Milton seemed to be oblivious that his inquiries were upsetting the redneck in front of him.

"Where is Merle, exactly?"

"Locked up in Georgia State Penitentiary. Ain't that written down in your file?"

"Oh no, this isn't my file, it's yours, and no, it isn't – but I _shall_ make a note of it. Why is Merle incarcerated?"

"Methamphetamine manufacturin'," he offered blandly, sighing, feeling more and more uncomfortable the longer he sat there.

"How long is his sentence?"

"Was his third strike with the law gittin' caught up in drugs, so he's gotta go on a longer stretch this time 'round, so he's lookin' at ten years. Ain't gonna do that much time though, but he has a mandatory minimum of four years an' he's been gone two months now. So's I s'posse I'll see him on the outside say maybe four years from now."

"Are you bothered, Daryl?" Milton seemed to finally sort out that his questions were unnerving the man before him.

"I don't see how any o' these things gotta do with why ya asked me here ta see ya."

"Oh, well, they have everything to do with that." Affronted almost, Milton sat up straight.

"How? Our conversation ain't been much 'o one yet, jus' you askin' 'bout my family an' stuff, which I ain't got much of." Daryl cringed at the tone of his voice, slightly embarrassed, slightly resigned.

"Mr. Blake likes to have a proper comprehension of his employee's before we send them on their way. Anyone employed with Blake Industries is part of a larger family, extended from their own. It's more personal than just your average employment."

_Send them on their way? The fuck does that mean?_

Daryl sighed, and placed his hands on his knees to avoid clenching them or resorting to chewing on already weathered fingernails.

"Look, if you're preparin' ta git rid o' me, jus' git it over with'. I ain't got time ta play twenty questions, Milton."

Mamet pressed his lips together, and closed the folder. "I think I have all I need to know. Well Daryl..."

He didn't finish his sentence because Daryl stood up suddenly, confusion and fright coursing through his veins. His stance was non-confrontational; instead it was self-defensive, his arms hugging his torso and fingertips hiding under his biceps as he nibbled on his inner cheek.

"Are you quite well, Daryl? Is something the matter?"

"Can I just go now? Rather git my personal items cleared out 'fore my crew," he sighed, knowing they weren't his crew any longer, "'fore the others git here."

"You want to leave now?" He asked incredulously, seeming to be slightly annoyed. "We'll let you finish your workweek before we send you off; in fact, you may need until the end of the month." Milton stood now too and walked around the desk to lean one hip upon it. "I wasn't aware you were privy to what this meeting entailed. We only came to this decision yesterday, Mr. Blake and I, after we reviewed your file for the past few months along with your extensive history with the company. We only assumed…"

The tracker shrugged. "Ain't matterin' none, I can tell that ya just buyin' time until ya send me off on my way, right?" The bitter scoff couldn't be held back, and Daryl wanted to say a lot more than that. "Twenty-two years I been here an' jus' lik' tha', ya throw it all away."

Milton frowned, and now stared at Daryl as though he were the one not making any sense. "I'm thinking you may have jumped to the wrong conclusion. I _am_ sending you on your way, of course, if you choose to go. Why do you think I inquired about a family? Mr. Blake likes to have an understanding about certain things. If you had a wife and children, we would be reluctant to uproot you from your life here. A single man with no attachments however, might be more willing to leave and go off to oversee what needs attending to. I imagine it's prudent to assume your cat won't mind a new environment to roam."

Comprehension flooded his embodiment, and his stance loosened considerably. Allowing a chuckle to burst forth from his lungs, Daryl shook his head in amazement. "Ya ain't firin' me?" Light laughter, he let his arms fall to his sides.

"Goodness gracious, no, not even in the same ballpark and I can't fathom why you thought I was about to. You _must know_ you are the most qualified engineer we have here and the most productive member of the general management. Since your induction to Engineer, there hasn't been one accident on your shift, the byproduct output has improved over two-hundred percent and your crew has outstanding production elicitation. Fire you? No. We, Mr. Blake and I, want you to be the new Plant Director over in Morgan County."

As the information processed, Daryl could only stare at the smaller man in total befuddlement.

"Ya'll want me ta be what, the boss? You're givin' me my own facility? Are… Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me? Ya serious?"

Mamet was undeterred by his crude words. "Indeed, if you accept the job, it's yours. If you choose to seize this extraordinary opportunity, you'll be working with me, and under my training, you'll learn the in's and out's of running your own plant. You have the genius to do it Daryl, that's why Mr. Blake _chooses you_."

Plopping back down into the chair to keep his legs from melting under him, he inhaled and exhaled in relief. They wanted to give him a chance, a greater chance than he had ever felt within his reach. They weren't letting him go. Maybe it was the extra moment he took this morning to Zen his mind, as he waited for his old pick up to warm up. At this point, Daryl didn't care. The universe was shining down on him.

Milton walked back around and sat again. "You have given twenty plus years of your hard work and dedication, it's only right to reward such outstanding work ethics." He said matter-of-factly, in a dry deadpanned articulation. "Do you realize how uncommon it is to have an employee such as yourself, Daryl? I say this with regret that I have not taken the time to notice you before this. It was Mr. Blake who pointed you out and set me in your direction."

"I'll take the job," Daryl stated without an ounce hesitation, rubbing his hand along his scruffy chin. "I'm ready for more responsibility. I wanna do it. I can do it, Milton."

"Excellent, I knew you would. When I read your file. I knew you were the man for this job. Now, the new plant as you know has been under construction the past year on the outskirts of Buckhead, Georgia in Morgan County, roughly three hours away from here. It _is_ a slightly smaller plant than this one, but it will offer many new job opportunities in that area where unemployment is high. Mr. Blake wishes to offer the communities there new hope in hindsight of such drastic declines to our economy. Your training will only take as long as it takes you to learn exactly what it is that I do here as Directing Manager. The plant opens in six months, on June 2nd, which gives you ample time, although I doubt it will take you that long to adjust. You'll need to find housing which shouldn't be a daunting task at all. I would suggest relocating directly to Buckhead. I'll give you the information to put you in touch with a local real estate agent for that area. The plant's only several miles away, in town. Buckhead isn't even one square mile in size. The population is barely over two hundred citizens."

"I kinda lik' the sound o' tha', ta be honest. Small community, ain't big on cities. Might not take th' job if it were Atlanta." Daryl sat forward, eyes cast on the other man.

"I've visited Buckhead while I oversaw some of the construction. I enjoyed my time there. I would recommend the local farmers market. Quaint. Good eggs."

Daryl nodded, relaxing fully.

"You'll have several tasks to do before you and I start working in proximity. I want you to pick someone to replace you. Someone just as dedicated as yourself."

"Jim." He interjected. "That's who I would promote."

"Jim?"

"Yeah, he can do it, an' do it well. Been here almost as long as me," Daryl nodded slowly, staring at Milton's hand as he made a note. "He's a hard worker and always helps newbies, when we git 'em."

"Great, I'll let you inform him, and you can start today by showing him how to do your job. If you're comfortable with that." Mamet said, setting the pen between his fingers down and glancing up.

"I am."

Milton nodded, offering a smile and continued to drivel on, and Daryl stared at him intently, retaining all the details.

xxxxxx

Lids fluttered open as he was pulled out of his reflections by the ending credits of the sitcom and he looked down at the cat sprawled out on his lap.

"Whatcha thinkin', Cat? Ya wanna come an' stay with me in Buckhead? Maybe we can find ya a real nice lady cat to shack up with, huh? Whatcha think o' tha'?" The redneck dragged his fingers along the feline's spine, petting him lazily.

Cat's ears flicked back at the sound of his humans deep, smooth drawl, and his tail thumped his leg.

"Yeah, I thought so." Daryl gave him some scratches behind his ear and took the last drag from a cigarette he didn't remember lighting. "Ya ain't got time for that, well, me neither pal."

Daryl ate dinner some time later, and after washing up the dishes and cleaning the counters, he found himself back out on the patio. A slight chill kissing the breeze, not unpleasant, sent shivers all along his flesh. Daryl sighed, absentmindedly smoking as his head hung low. The uneventful quiet evening like a snail, dragging slowly, unhurried and he sighed, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowing upwards as he lifted his head. Too early to sleep. Emptiness echoed profoundly, the trailer park still and silent, nary a chirp, nary a faint hint of sound. Humming, the hunter bowed his head again and let his arm extend, dangling off the wood rail.

Moments later, the cell phone in his pocket started to buzz, alerting him to a call. Daryl straightened, allowed a second to snuff the cigarette out in the tin and dug the device out. Glancing at the caller ID, lips pursed. Not many people called him, so it wasn't a surprise to see that it was Merle again. Answering, Daryl listened to the automated voice informing him that an inmate was calling from Georgia State Corrections. Running a hand over his face, he accepted the call.

"Hello," he answered the wariness apparent in his voice.

"Well shit, baby bruther, din't think I'd getcha on the first call, reckoned ya were still sore at me for earlier. Can ya hear me okay?" Merle sounded as distant as the miles between them.

"Not really, th' fuck is goin' on in there? Some kinda riot? You start some shit at count or what?" The younger Dixon brother snorted, the edge of mouth quirking into a sullen smile.

Merle chuckled, "Nah, 's movie night, an' all these bastards wanna use th' phone 'fore we all sit down an' jerk each other off."

"Sounds lik' fun, ya'll watchin' anything good?"

"Fuck if I kno' lil bruther, I jus' join in on the circle jerk." Merle paused, rustling around a bit as though he switched ears. "Lookie here, jus' don't think ya movin' all yer shit ta sum shithole place is gonna do ya any good. They gonna look at'cha th' same way ev'ryone does now. Like a piece o' shit redneck tryin' ta com' into town an' start runnin' shit, takin' over. That ain't yer way, I done taught ya better than that, bruther."

"Th' fuck you did, Merle! Gonna mind my own damn business like I always does. Gonna be helpin' folks git jobs jus' like they helped me when I was started up. Ya can't kno' what it's like cause ya never wanted ta work, all ya ever wanted ta do was run 'round an' do whatever the fuck it was you wanted ta do." Daryl sat up, and cringed at the almost pleading quality in his voice, wanting some kind of acknowledgement that his brother was proud of him. That he was happy Daryl had earned this and was taking his prize. "One crazy scheme after 'nother an' who was always there? Pickin' up th' pieces each tim' ya came down from a binge? Me. Cain't ya jus' once be fuckin' happy for me, Merle? Cain't ya?"

"Awe, shit, yeah, I hear ya. Deryl, I kno', I fuckin' kno'. But Yer gonna be under sum assholes thumb, tellin' ya when ta piss, when ta shit, an' when ta fuck. I git it though, okay?" The elder Dixon brother sighed, long-sufferingly, and then chuckled. "When do ya start?"

Daryl let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and didn't bother reminding Merle he had told him a hundred different times. "I'ma head up ta Buckhead t'morrow an' scope out the town with some lady real estate agent. I already been ta the plant an' met everyone. It ain't open yet though an' my boss say's I could take the next two months off an' git settled an' oversee the last o' the construction an' git done with the hirin' process. Thinkin' 'bout doin' that. I ain't wantin' ta stick 'round here no more or longer than I gotta."

"That Miller Munster guy yer boss?" Merle cackled, enjoying getting a rise out of his baby brother.

"Milton Mamet, an' no, talkin' 'bout Philip Blake."

"Whatever, so yer leavin' the trailer fer me? Ain't gonna sell it behind my back while I'm takin' my vacation?"

"Leavin' it be 'til ya can move back in when ya git out. Fuck, I told ya that, Merle. Don't'cha ev'a listen? Good lord." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daryl closed his eyes.

"Reckon yer gonna take everything wit' ya up ta Buckwheat?"

"Buckhead," he corrected, much to Merles delight as he laughed in the receiver. "Nah, gonna leave the furniture here for ya. Might gonna buy som' new furniture, a new bed an' maybe a new couch – Don't kno' yet… But I ain't takin' non'a it I got here. Gonna spend a few months an' see how things go, an' if I takes to the job as good as I think I'ma gonna do, I'ma find a house. Jus' gonna rent some room for now."

"I see, yeah, good thinkin' baby bruther, ya don't wanna git roots set up, ya kno'? Might gotta high tail it outta there, might knock sumone up."

"Shut up," Daryl turned, hand dropping and leant upon the railing. "Ain't lookin' for none 'o that kinda shit, don't need the headache. Last thing on my mind."

"Gotta man up sumtime an' find ya a good woman ta keep yer bed warm an' yer cock wet." Merle guffawed bristly into the phone. "'S o' shame ya don't use it mor' often bruther, ya kno'. Only thing Pa ever gav' us was th' will ta survive an' a huge ol' pickle ta tickle th' ladies wit'."

"You're fuckin' disgustin', ya kno' that, Merle? What? Ya wanna see me shacked up wit' som' skag lik' you so's I can end up with the Clap like you did all them times?" Daryl chuckled, missing the man on the phone more than he'd ever admit to him.

Merle became quiet, and he sighed long and almost sadly. "Deryl, sumday ya gonna be in it so hard, ya ain't even gonna kno' what hit'cha. 'S how it always ends up ta be an' ya end up jus' another pussy whipped bitch waitin' on sum woman hand an' foot."

"Since when did you start clackin' like a hen givin' out relationship advice, brother? When the fuck were ya ever in one? Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes, staring upwards as he tilted his head back.

"Always figured you were still pristine, boy. Name me one-time ya got yer cock wet?"

Daryl scoffed, hating when every single conversation usually turned tables and ended up being a discussion about his lack of womanly companionship. Things seldom change, really. Life always comes back around to the familiar.

"I've had sex, Merle, I'm forty-one fuckin' years old. But ya done fucked up so much I ain't never gonna take advice from you 'bout nothin', let alone relationship advice."

"Who'd ya fuck bruther, coss I ain't never seen ya wit' a woman."

"You were gone for years, Merle. Ya ain't kno'ing what the fuck I been up to. Jus' shut the hell up already."

"Thas why ya should listen ta me, baby bruther, I done fucked up so much I know's wha' I'm talkin' 'bout. Glad ya had ya sum pussy though." Daryl could feel the smirk his brother had glued to his face over the miles that separated them.

His banter with Merle lasted a few more minutes until the twenty-minute phone call was disconnected. Daryl said goodbye and reminded Merle to behave, and that he would send him money soon. As much as he gave his older brother shit for it, Daryl knew that the commissary was a huge part of keeping up personal moral. Buying yourself snacks and being able to afford overpriced toiletries, it helped. Lighting up another cigarette, Daryl sat down at the patio table and smoked in quiet contemplation. Gazing around, he realized he would miss this old trailer, and the inviting woods which surrounded the trailer park. Far too long it had been since he allowed an entire day for a well-off hunt. His crossbow unfortunately seemed to be collecting dust in its corner. He had been thinking of replacing it and thought perhaps there might be a nice wooded area near Buckhead for a good hunting spot. Daryl loved being outside and made the decision to make more time for his passion as his work load became more demanding but less occupying.


	2. What's Your Name, Cat Man?

Chapter Two

What's Your Name, Cat Man?

The steady rumble of the blue pickup came to a halt as Daryl pulled into Buckhead. High activity had Main Street bustling with folks wandering up and along the sidewalks, stopping here and there to browse and chat, and the redneck watched attentively, curious interest piqued as he slowly rolled through. Daryl found a parking spot in front of the bar and grill -a preplanned meeting place for he and the real estate agent - turned the ignition off and nodded his head at an elderly man walking a dog between his truck and a large recreational vehicle next to it. He sat there finishing his cigarette as he glanced up and down the street. People wore grins and friendly expressions, and it all seemed a little too surreal for Daryl. Not exactly sure what to expect, it sure wasn't such a diverse and intriguing array of faces and activity.

So far, he'd only driven past the main road that led into town and followed the highway out to the factory. This particular afternoon, Daryl realized, was some sort of farmers market as his gaze settled on a large booth set up to the left of his truck that depicted Farm Fresh Eggs from the Greene Family Farm. There was a young girl with flaxen hair chatting with the man who was walking his dog. Hadn't Milton mentioned once that the eggs were good? Was he talking about the Greene family farm eggs? Daryl's lips pursed thoughtfully, thinking he might gotta buy a dozen or so, before heading out later.

Stepping out of his truck Daryl stretched, and stared up at the sign on the building in front of him which read _Buck Skin_. This caused Daryl to chuckle amusedly, enjoying this more and more. Reality clearer, that prickling agony of doubt constant and present, telling him he'd never escape the confines of his home town, dissipating a little more each day. This was where he was meeting with the Real Estate lady, Lori Grimes. She too, had sounded friendly and pleasant on the phone, speaking highly of Buckhead, as though it wasn't just her job to convince him how wonderful the town was, like she really meant it.

Daryl pulled the door open and stepped inside, blue gaze bright.

A sign inside the door advertised a decently priced steak lunch written in fancy pastel chalk. The inside wasn't busy, and he was greeted with a friendly smile from an older woman sitting in a booth, sipping a cup of coffee or maybe tea, Daryl couldn't tell which, as he walked through the small entrance vestibule, to his left. Quirking lips back, Daryl sauntered through slowly and took a seat right at the bar, sliding upon a stool and pivoting to further glance around the area. The décor was interesting with an outdoorsy rustic flare to it, and he admired the deer skins and several buck heads aligning the walls. There was a small stage with karaoke equipment and a little dance floor in front of it. The hunter didn't karaoke himself, but truth be told, listening to drunk people sing had entertained him a time or two. An old-fashioned jukebox stood next to a row of dart boards where several teens were throwing darts, on the far wall. It was a comfy atmosphere and Daryl could actually picture coming in after a long day at the plant and enjoying a beer after work.

Everything might really turn out okay. This thought filled Daryl with hope, and all the negative dumbass shit Merle put in his head, clean washed away.

Turning his attention back to the bar, he looked up into the face of a smiling brunette.

"Hey stranger, I'm Karen, what can I get you?" She held a beige wash clothe in her hand, eyeing him curiously.

Daryl pointed his thumb back toward the sign, "Steak lunch sounds like it'll hit the spot."

"Sure, thing handsome - it comes with a salad, and fries or baked potato." She ran the rag along the counter, grinning at him.

"Baked potato, lots 'o sour cream if ya got it." He grunted, fighting the sigh that wanted to immerge.

"No problem, dressing?"

"Ranch," he looked over to see what kind of soda they had. "Hav' my steak rare and I'll hav' a Coke."

"You got it," The woman winked, and Daryl nodded, slightly uncomfortable the longer she spoke. "I'll have that salad right out, don't'cha go nowhere, 'kay?"

Just then – an opportunity to twist away and become distracted - the door opened and the man with the dog, who was happily wagging its tail alongside him, came bustling through. He greeted the woman in the booth with a peck on the lips, and in the gentlest of care, took her hand and helped her maneuver out of the long, smooth seat. The two of them came over and sat several stools down from Daryl, settling there. The dog came over and sniffed at Daryl's boot and then barked up at him, that shaggy tail waving and bobbing along to a beat of a drum that was truly his own.

"Hey there fella," he murmured, reaching down to let the dog sniff at his hand. When the animal stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws on Daryl's thigh and barked again, he chuckled and petted it along its head.

"Charlie, leave that poor man be." The woman chastised, calling to the dog as she leaned around the elderly gentleman, with a click of her tongue.

"It's okay ma'am, he ain't botherin' me none," Daryl smiled at the friendly lady and offered a nonchalant shrug, scratching the pooch behind his floppy ears as he looked to her. "Probably jus' smells my cat."

"Oh, he likes cats." The woman grinned jubilantly. "They just don't seem to like him too much." She laughed, nudging the man beside her, probably her husband maybe, and gestured to Daryl.

"My old tom, he don't mind dogs, he likes ta chase 'em an' try an' make friends. Funny ta watch." Daryl chuckled, patting the dogs head.

The man who was holding the dogs leash had a grayish white beard and was wearing a fisherman's hat, staring down at a menu. Daryl thought he had a very grandfatherly air about him and almost took an instant liking to him, as their eyes met. This was definitely new for him because he hardly gave two shits about anyone upon first meeting them, but he was somewhere new and he was feeling like he too, was something new. He reminded Daryl of someone who should be in 'On Golden Pond', that movie he remembered his mama watching a lot, as he held his hand out and introduced himself. "I'm Dale Horvath, and this here is my wife Irma and I see you've met Charlie."

Daryl shook his hand, "Names Daryl Dixon, nice ta meetcha."

Taking his hand back Dale puckered his lips making a beckoning sound and Charlie retreated. "Nice to meet you too, Daryl."

Karen the barmaid came back with his salad and Coke just as he spoke his name to Dale and cringed a little at the look in her eyes. Setting the plate down, she winked at him – again - then went to chat with Irma as she put the couple's lunch order in. Daryl could feel the woman's eyes on him every so often and he shifted uncomfortably on the stool, sighing softly and looking everywhere but into the bar. Tearing up the ring of red onion in his salad and avoiding looking up at her, Daryl concentrated on his food. He knew that look, and damn if he didn't hate it. He wasn't blind to how women stared at him and it wasn't an egotistical thing like it was for Merle, Daryl plainly just didn't care. Sometimes with their eyes glazed over in lust, as they guzzled more and more beer at whatever dive bar, he'd been dragged to, panting like they were in heat.

Those weren't the kinda women Daryl liked. And he wasn't exactly sure what sort he did like. It sure as all fuck weren't them. They made him uncomfortable, uneasy and self-conscious like they wanted to eat him alive or take a huge chunk outta him. Daryl had had very little interaction with women just for these reasons. He knew he was emotionally stunted, being touched set his flight or fight instinct on overdrive, and he had barely disciplined himself to no longer flinch from casual human contact over the years. The only place he ever felt comfortable around people was when he was working. No one tried to touch him there.

Daryl had fucked with women before. That much has been the truth to his brother. A quick copulation to mislay himself, in some anonymous bedroom – never his own, unable to fight the urge to run away after long hours of obnoxious flirting and beer goggles got the better of him. A rut in the back of the truck or some woman's car following, or during, a wild night of tailgating down at the quarry. Those instances were few and years apart now, yet in his twenties and early thirties, Daryl could mingle with the crowd a lot better. They might have been his brother's crowd of asshole druggy friends, but he knew them. Daryl was just as susceptible to the carnal needs of his body as any other red-blooded man, and every time – every single goddamn time, he woke feeling hollow and ravened, a feeling of nothingness embodying that lonely ache for genuine companionship. Grabbing his clothes and disappearing, sternly castigating and kicking his own ass on the drive home. Granted, it wasn't as often as he would have his brother believe nor was it with the types of women Merle'd approve of, a grade above green teeth and oozing needle punctures. It was the allure of a soft body or the need to feel something other than the loneliness he denied that haunted him. That fear of intimacy, the terrifying truth that if he truly opened his heart or let someone know him, they wouldn't like what they found. So, Daryl opted to stay alone and so he did. And damn, it ached.

The dark haired woman ambled back over to him and grinned as she wiped at the already spotless counter. He chewed the food in his mouth slowly keeping his gaze lowered to his plate.

"I like a man who can eat a salad," She tapped her fingers in erratic rhythm upon the counter as though to get his attention. "You are enjoying it, yeah? Your bunny food?"

Daryl could hear the playful tone of her voice and he winced.

"I enjoy rabbit food jus' as much as I do anything else I s'ppose," Shrugging, he lifted his gaze. "Food is food far as I can tell. Cain't be too picky when they's people out there who ain't got none." He wondered if she knew what it felt like to go to bed hungry at night, if she knew what it felt like to not have anything to eat. _That's unfair._ Daryl sighs, trying to appear friendly.

This statement however, elicited a flirty tilt of her head, her long brown locks falling to the side to drape over her shoulder. "Awwwwe, that is so true." She cradled her face with one hand as she leaned on the countertop with her face only inches away. "So, _Daryl Dixon_, what brings you to Buckhead this fine spring day? Don't think I've ever seen you around these parts."

_Pfff, that's not cliché at all_, he thought.

Casual conversation though - he could do this, and it was just a question, and besides, wouldn't he be living here for the long haul of the duration? That he held his new job? Perhaps forever if he was lucky enough to accomplish a well enough repertoire with the employee's and prove he could handle such a huge responsibility? He cleared his throat and took a sip of his Coke. "I'm movin' here ta Buckhead, coincidently." There, that should be enough for her. Bar tenders always seemed to be the biggest source of small town gossip so maybe if she spread it around he wouldn't have to answer the same inquiries over and over and over again.

"Are you now? How exciting...," Karen swept an almost predatory gaze to his features, and the redneck instinctively leaned away. "What exactly has you moving here, Daryl?"

He sighed, grave sufferance and longanimity, placing his fork down and wiping mouth ungracefully with the back of hand despite the napkin beside the plate. "I'm overseein' th' final construction on the new Blake plant a couple miles outta town. Then I'm heading it up in June once it opens. Thas wha' has me tryna move here." He looked behind her, his blue eyes drifting to where the door to the kitchen was. "My steak done yet?"

"Big man in charge, huh? Very, very interesting... Sure, lemme go check on that for you." Karen pushed away from the counter, an evince of pure luxuria, and turned to walk through the swinging door.

"Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing what you said," The man, Dale, had shifted in his stool and was looking at Daryl with a lot more enthusiasm now. "Are you in charge of that new fertilizer plant down the highway there out past the Greene Farm?"

Daryl inclined his head and faced him, happy for the distraction, making an agreeable grunt in his throat. "Yep, sure is. I'm coming out from Moline."

"Wonderful!" He exclaimed, slapping the counter with his hand Dale grinned animatedly. "Mr. Blake met with the city council two years ago in the community center and I tell you, he charmed our pants off, that's for sure. He made the proposition for the land he wanted to buy from Herschel Greene and so far, he's been nothing but sincere and compassionate to us all. Kept every promise he made and given many of our people jobs since they started hiring a few months ago." Dale shook his head in amazement and turned to get his wife's attention. "Irma, Irma! This young man here is the new plant director Mr. Blake said was coming to town to take ascendancy of it."

Daryl watched with a small smile as they talked excitedly a moment and then she leaned over her husband to grin at him. "Mr. Blake said he had a nice competent man coming in and here you are! Dale say's you're moving here?"

"Yes, ma'am, I sure hope so. S'ppose ta be meetin' with Lori Grimes? She's gonna show me 'round town and take me ta see a few places here in an hour or so." Daryl liked these two, liked how they smiled at him and liked how they talked to him, like he was someone worth knowing, even before they knew he was the new plant director whom they seemed to have been excited to meet. Genuine pleasure filled his chest, reflecting out through his smile. "Lookin' forward ta learnin' my way 'round, an' meetin' people."

Karen came back out just then and set his steak and potato in front of him and removing his mostly finished salad away, without asking. Daryl turned slowly and faced her, glancing to his meat.

"Lori?" She started, pausing a moment to think out loud, "Yeah, she said she was going out looking around at some rooms today when she and Carl were here having supper last night. You're not interested in buying a house? There's a nice new development down the highway a bit." Karen said, as she placed the salad plate behind the bar in a grey dish bucket. "Thinking about getting myself a place there, you know, maybe we might be neighbors soon." She giggled, and the sound of it annoyed him greatly.

"Nah, jus' wanna rent som'thin' small for now an' see how things go at the plant." He shrugged, turning the plate to where he wanted it. "Sometimes they swap people, or we get shuffled 'around, like a deck o' cards. I'll kno' after th' first year or so if I'ma be stickin' 'round."

She crinkled her nose distastefully, and the giggle faded. "I can only think of one room for rent over on Baker Drive and then the nutcase – the old lady with the third-floor attic for rent outside of town in her ghastly ass farm house."

Dale clucked his tongue and shook his head, "There's nothing wrong with Carol. She's just quiet, shy. She's nice if you give her half of a chance."

"I haven't trusted that old hag since she came to town." Karen's eyes grew dark, and they flashed aggressively at Dale. "She comes in here once a week, on karaoke night no less, and never sings. Sits there and watches, taking notes – or doodling, who knows! She has one drink and nurses it the whole night. Never talks to anyone, never mingles. She's nuts. Where did she even come from? She should just go back." Karen rolled her eyes and Daryl just sighed, cutting into his meat. "No one even likes her. And she's old as hell. Not that that's bad!" Karen backtracked, holding a hand up in protest from the dual looks of disgruntlement by the Horvath's. "Hello? Has she never heard of hair coloring? And she smells like moth balls and cat piss, gross. I hate cats."

That did it for Daryl.

"Hi ya'll! Are y'all gossiping about Carol Peletier?" Daryl felt someone sit down next to him in the empty bar stool between him and Dale as the voice spoke again. "She's an odd ball, that's for sure! Hey Dale! Hey Irma! Hey Karen!"

"Yes, I am." Karen replied, with the same ugly expression on her face that Daryl was starting to get really sick of. "Anyone who steps into this bar is susceptible to criticism and mockery."

"Not this bar, Tyreese –" Dale started.

"Fine! MY criticism and mockery." The woman amended, eyes rolling heavenwards, and Daryl knew, everyone's true personality always revealed itself, one way or another and Karen's was a very sour and despicable one.

"Hey Beth, how's your booth coming along?" Irma asked, waving at the newcomer. "How's your daddy doing?"

It was the young blonde he had seen Dale chatting with when he was finishing up his cigarette before he came inside for lunch.

"Doing good so far we done sold all the eggs," The girl said, grinning brightly, "Glenn just came over from daddy's clinic to give me a break, and daddy is well! Excited for his birthday party me and Maggie are planning. Hi! Ain't seen you around before?"

Turning slightly, Daryl nodded his head, trying to swallow the steak in his mouth. "Hi." He managed before taking a sip at his soda. "I'm Da -.."

"That there is Daryl Dixon." Karen interrupted, "He's the new boss man in town. Gonna be taking over the fertilizer plant for Mr. Blake." Karen said, offering up all the details as she watched him eat his food. "He's waiting for Lori to show him around to a few rooms and see if he finds anything he likes."

"Nice to meet you, Daryl, I'm Beth Greene." She held her hand out and he wiped his hand and fingers off on his pant leg before he shook it quickly.

"Yeah, nice ta meet'cha too." He replied, taking his hand back. "An' yeah, I'm movin' here."

"Neat! I like seeing Buckhead get more folks coming to live here!" The girl nodded along with Dale and Irma, and Daryl turned back to his food. "So, why are y'all droning on about Carol? She done something strange worth gossiping about? Oh! Karen, I just want the grilled chicken and a Sprite, if it ain't no big deal."

"Sure thing, Beth." Karen replied, jotting it down and handing in to the cook and filling a tall glass of the clear, refreshing beverage and setting it down in front of the blonde.

Dale piped up then, sticking his head out to address the young lady. "No one was gossiping. Karen just mentioned to Daryl here that Carol is renting out her third floor attic and I was saying there's nothing wrong with Carol and that some people need to be friendlier."

"Ohhh, I see. Well, she's always nice to me when she comes over and buys our veggies. Daddy gets a hankering for her eggs sometimes, the duck eggs I mean. We have chickens but can't seem to entice the ducks to stay in our pond. I don't mind her. I keep telling Carol she ought to open a booth for the markets." Beth took the glass of soda in front of her and poked her straw out of its wrapping. "She's just a bit strange but I think that's cause no one knows where she came from." The girl put her straw into the soda and took a big drink.

"She came from Planet Freakazoid," The barmaid drawled as she took Daryl's glass and refilled it. "She rolls into town one day and just moves _right on into_ the old Lukenbill House and keeps herself cooped up with that nasty old cat of hers and those noisy damn ducks that flock all over the property. I hate the racket they make because you can hear them all damn day. It's irritating and annoying."

"Those duck eggs are good have you ever tried them for yourself?" Irma commented, giving Karen a stern look meant to inspire shame. "They make a really tasty omelet. You should add duck egg omelet to the breakfast menu."

Karen just rolled her eyes though. "Why would I want to? I'd lose customers. No, I wouldn't ever give her any of my business. I'd lose my reputation."

_Reputation? _

"Som' people ain't liked ta be bothered, ain't nothin' wrong wit' that." Daryl said, shrugging his shoulders. "An' it's the females that like ta carry on an' such, they just loud coss they happy. Ducks is ducks. Any dumbass wit' a lick o' sense knows that…" The irritated man mumbled this last part under his breath, but he could swear he heard Dale snicker. "Cain't get irritated at nature jus' bein' wha' it is."

"My point exactly," Dale said. "Now can we please talk about something else?"

However, Karen would not be deterred. "And what the hell does she do for a living? Or is she retired? She never leaves that old house. And she creeps me out in those weird shawls she always has wrapped around her like she's a fortune teller. I'm surprised she doesn't have a sign hanging from her porch advertising for people to have their palms read."

"Oh! Maybe she was some kinda schoolmarm? Retired librarian? She has that look about her. I can see her wearing long skirts and fluffy shirts like they did way back when! Smacking little hands with a ruler when they act out and misbehave." Beth giggled, seeming to enjoy the conversation, like it was a guessing game or some shit. "Or maybe she's the crypt keeper? You know there's that old cemetery on her property in the woods. Dates to the Civil War."

"Any o' y'all ever jus' considered askin' the woman what she do?" He put his knife down and scoffed, shaking his head, looking at them all one by one.

Daryl disliked gossip; In fact, he fucking loathed it. This reminded him of all those times he heard his name being whispered as he stopped in the store or went in to pay for gas. The way they were talking about this lady, someone he didn't even know, made him uneasy. He had no clue what Lori Grimes had on their agenda when it came to scouting out possible places for him to live but if this woman was one of their stops, he didn't want to hear any more trash talking.

"Carol is a very private person. I think she works from home." Irma commented, glancing over at Daryl but flicked her eyes between Beth and Karen and him as she spoke. "She moved here about five years ago. Bought that old house and keeps to herself. I talk to her when she comes into the store."

"We own and operate the only grocery store in Buckhead," Dale explained, smiling at Daryl and waiting for his wife to continue.

"I'm sure she might even come out to the Farmers Market sometime this weekend – the sweet dear isn't a recluse as some presume to think. The attic she has for rent is actually the old maid quarters, it's nice and roomy she said, like a small apartment. She's been slowly fixing the house up, renovating and what not. I think she should open a bed and breakfast. It might bring even more people here. We're right off the highway. That might be a nice way to attract vacationers to stop in for a visit and an overnight stay in a historical house." Irma concluded, and Daryl ignored the scoff directly in front of him.

Daryl nodded, cutting up the last portion of his steak once he gathered his fork and knife back up. "Don't sound too bad."

"Yeah, works from home," Karen placed some plates in front of Dale and Irma and Beth as she continued yapping, much to Daryl's annoyance. "She probably has a website with her creepy ass face on it and that's where she advertises her fortune telling abilities, ripping people off."

"They charge by the minute, don't they?" Beth chimed back in. "Remember when the psychic fair came to town with the carnival a few years back? They had all those fancy tents set up and you could get a reading for ten dollars? I had one done on my past lives. It was neat." Beth rambled on. "I remember Carol was there and she went into one of them tents. Maybe she was visiting with one of her fortune telling friends? I bet whatever kinda psychic business she's in, she's in it so hard, to work so much and have no one knowing what she even does."

"You know, you could be on to something Beth." Karen nodded her head, tossing her rag from one hand to the other. "Next time she comes in here for karaoke night I'm gonna ask her to read my palm and see what she does."

Idle fucking gossip continued, and Daryl removed himself from it – chewing slowly to enjoy the flavors on the steak, and the richness of the baked potato. Once he was finished, plate empty and belly full, Daryl paid his bill. Slipping away, a round of small waves to the Horvath's, Beth and that insufferable barmaid, Daryl went to wait outside. Lighting a cigarette, a quick glance to the watch on his wrist told him that Lori Grimes would be arriving any moment now. Leaning shoulder against the brick building, he took a closer gander at the Greene Family Farm booth.

A younger Asian man, probably in his mid-twenties, was chatting with a dark-skinned woman whose back was turned to the hunter. The man handed over a box, but before it could be exchanged, the poor guy tripped – over something Daryl couldn't see – and vegetables scattered all over the sidewalk, and he let out a soft chuckle at the spectacle. Snuffing the cigarette out, he dropped it into an ashtray beside the entrance to Buck Skin and jogged over to the pair to offer an extra set of hands.

"Oh crap! I'm such a klutz, sorry Michonne!" The kid slapped palm to forehead and turned to look at Daryl, bending over to pick up several scattered peppers. "Thanks man, did you see that?"

"Glenn, it's fine, I was going to rinse them all anyways. Little dirt, washes right off."

Daryl, bent over with a huge carrot in his hand, shifted to gaze at the woman as he recognized the name. "Michonne?" He asked, standing up straight, handing the carrot to the overly apologetic kid, Glenn, who was glancing between him and the grinning woman beside him.

"Daryl Dixon! Are you working today? Mamet needs to give you a day off, I swear!" She laughed, moving to help Glenn out with placing the vegetables once more inside the box. "Or are you just stopping through on your way home?"

Daryl chuckled, "I'm looking at real estate taday, actually, fixin' on takin' time ta git relocated here. Ya livin' in Buckhead now?"

"Mhm, I just moved here too, right after you hired me. I wasn't happy in Woodbury, so, I kinda had the same idea. If I had to take that job in Corporate, I honestly think I'd've found another company. The operation you have in mind is more my kinda deal." Michonne rolled her eyes and Daryl laughed, nodding his head in agreement.

"Awesome! You're the guy Blake said was coming." Glenn said, handing the vegetables over to Michonne, apologizing one last time.

"Yeah, Daryl Dixon," Holding his hand out, they shook hands and Daryl smiled. It became easier and easier, to each new friendly face, to smile so comfortably. "Nice ta meetcha."

"Likewise, dude!" Glenn lifted his arm, hand splayed out and Daryl stared only a moment before returning the high five.

Chuckling, he nodded at Michonne, "Hey, I'll see ya at th' plant on Monday, enjoy ya veggies!"

"Yep, see you, Daryl. Happy house hunting! I hope you find something you like! Lori is really sweet, she's a doll." The woman waved and turned back to Glenn, to pick back up whatever conversation they were having before Glenn dropped the basket of vegetables.

"See, ya," Daryl strolled lazily back to his place, and continued leaning up against the bricks.

_I like it here; I actually like it. _He thought to himself. So far, the few people he'd met were friendly, a type of curious that didn't bother him none, and just plain nice. Daryl did not, however, care very much for Karen, besides the fact she hated cats, and he thought how down right deplorable and pitiable it was that someone who obviously owned the only Bar and Grill in Buckhead, could so righteously trash talk a member of town so viciously. Out of some kinda spite or bad blood, whatever the fuck it was, it was ugly. Irked the redneck, and the longer Daryl dwelled, the more his ruminations loitered on the mysterious lady who evoked such baseless confabulation. This Carol woman apparently came in to listen to drunks sing and whatnot, giving her patronage to the establishment, and still Karen jawed about her behind Carol's back. He wondered if Carol was aware of it the same way he had been when he was younger and had the same treatment given to him, hell, he still got it. Even now, after all the years gone by. Less frequent, yet it happened. Sucking on his lips, staring out at nothing lost in thought - he began to wonder about the attic the lady had for rent and this big old house she lived in. Daryl was handy. Knew his way around a cornucopia of different things that needed to be fixed, and the thought of maybe helping her out with broken things made him even more curious to see the place. Also, it was sort of a thing he was kinda into – old architecture.

The door next to him opened, and quietly chattering voices baited Daryl away and out of heedful contemplations. Dale and Irma appeared, Charlie trying to bound ahead, tail wagging and barking in what Daryl assumed is excitement at wanting inside the RV parked there. Just then, two cars joined the lineup of cars along the street– a dark SUV and a police charger, all three doors opening and then closing in synchronization. That had to be orchestrated. That kinda shit always made the hunter laugh. Daryl's first impression of the tall, very slim woman was that she looked exactly like Popeye's girlfriend, Olive Oyl, as she trotted over to the two officers.

"That's Lori Grimes and her husband, Buckhead's very own sheriff, Rick Grimes. His deputy there, that's Shane Walsh," Irma explained when she saw Daryl gazing at the three as they approached them. "Decent, lawful men."

Daryl snorted softly, _I bet they are._

He ain't never got on too well with men of the law.

"Irma! Dale! How are you, who's minding the store?" Lori Grimes gave the elder woman a hug, chatted a moment and then wrapped her long arms around Dale before finally looking at Daryl. "Mr. Dixon?"

"Yes ma'am," Daryl pushed away from the wall and placed his hand out. Lori smiled in congenial fashion and offered his hand a firm grip. "Daryl, please. I ain't use ya bein' called Mister."

"Welcome to Buckhead," The sheriff said, his blue eyes good-natured and hospitable as he went to stand beside his wife. "I'm Rick Grimes. If you need anything at all to make your move here go smoothly you just find me or my deputy here, Shane Walsh." The officer held his hand out and Daryl took it, nodding as he glanced to the other man, Shane. "Lori is the best. She'll get you set up and good to go."

"Names' Daryl Dixon, an' I 'ppreciate that, thanks," He said, before letting the man's hand go and turning to shake Shane's hand, noting his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but Daryl didn't particularly care.

Dale came to stand beside Daryl. "You know who this is, Sheriff? This is the man Mr. Blake has coming to run the fertilizer plant."

"Ya don't say? Well shit, welcome again." Shane said, grinning at Daryl now. "That place is helping us out a lot what with hiring and bringing new folks to town. Got a hell of a task ahead of you, buddy." Friendliness in his eyes, now, Daryl could only nod, glancing between the three of them.

_Buddy. Right. _

"So's I hear," Daryl replied, a little wary of all this attention but accepting it nonetheless. He knew his arrival and the excitement it brought would die down soon enough. Or so he hoped. It had too, right?

Lori smiled, "I know you just want to rent but I came across several small properties to go look at. We have three houses for sale and a few acres of land you could build one on if you wanted."

"I'll let you get to work." Rick placed a kiss on his wife's cheek then averted his eyes to Daryl. He tipped his hat and smiled. "Remember what I said, we can get you moved in no time flat, and good luck with your house hunting."

Rick and Shane headed inside the Buck Skin and Dale and Irma wandered off down the sidewalk after waving goodbye to him and Lori.

"That your truck?" She asked, pointing to the blue pickup.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Ya want me ta drive or..?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'll drive you around, hop on in."

Daryl climbed into the SUV, buckled up. Lori did the same, starting up the engine. Backing slowly into the bustling street, it took a few minutes before they pulled out into the traffic. Once Lori was able to start down the road, she glanced at him and asked, "So, what exactly are you interested in? You sounded a little unsure on the phone last week, have you given any thought to what you're looking for?"

"Th' company I work for, they tend ta swap people out, an' switch 'em 'round a lot. Ain't thinkin' thas gonna happen none, but I ain't gonna hold my breath for it neither, in case it does happen," Daryl cleared his throat, staring out the window. "But, 'm thinkin' 'bout jus' hunkerin' down in a room for the time bein'. Ain't really interest'd in a house jus' yet, all my own. Been hearin' there's an attic for rent from som' lady goes by the name o' Carol?"

The woman beside him sucked in a drawn-out hiss of a breath and laughed, really laughed as though he'd told a funny ass joke. "Yeah, yeah – Carol Peletier's renting her attic out, but I know for a fact she won't rent it out to you."

Daryl nodded his head, looking out the window still, chewing his lips. He could feel her looking at him before she laughed again. "I sold her the Lukenbill house when she came here. I'm sure you've heard your fair share of gossip today and Carol just seems to inspire it. Unfortunately you get that around here if you're a little different or socially awkward."

"So's I been hearin'," He scowled, looking at her now, and against his usual judgment and some irksome consideration about this woman named Carol, he just had to find out more about her. "What's so damn strange 'bout her anyhow? All's I been hearin' all th' live long day, is she's som' kinda recluse but far as I can tell, ain't nothin' wrong with that."

As Lori yielded to a stop sign, she turned her head and gave him a long stare trying to size him up, he reckoned. There was a protective glint in her eyes and this made him instantly more at ease. Hoping this woman was maybe a friend of the duck lady, he let his face relax, fashioning the scowl with an expression of inquisitiveness. They looked at one another and Daryl dropped his gaze just slightly, and picked at his cuticles.

"I kno' how it feels - how that is, bein' talked 'bout behind ya back. I com' from the back hills o' som' no name gulley on the side o' a rock quarry."

Lori sat back against the seat and moved the car forward.

"Well…she paid for her house in full, in cash. She lives alone with a cat in a huge house with eighteen rooms. I'm sure you know how rumors get started. There was a rumor after she moved in that she was the widow of a mob boss from Chicago. She doesn't _appear_ to have a job and well, people just talk. I love Carol; we're good friends, best friends actually. I go and have lunch with her about twice a week, we have game nights once a week. My son, Carl, enjoys helping her feed her ducks." Lori made a left turn and started down a long gravel drive. "It's just gossip; don't pay any attention to what Karen says. She's just pissed because she wanted that house and Carol was the one who had the cash to buy it outright."

Daryl chuckled, finding it amusing that this woman knew exactly who had been gossiping. "Why ya think she wouldn't rent ta me?"

"I set the ad up in the papers for her, here in Buckhead - in a few other local ads - the surrounding towns. She wants to rent to another woman and yeah, you have one too many _extra_ prerequisites to fill the order in for her perfect, ideal tenant."

He nodded his head in defeat, and sighed. "Well, I guess if'n I hafta, I'll rent a house."

"Everything around here is for sale. You'll have to go looking about twenty maybe even fifty miles away if you're really dead set on just renting." Lori offered a grim frown, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. "We won't stop until you find what you're looking for, and I can refer you to another agent at one of our other offices in the nearest areas."

He nodded and sucked on his lips. "Show me what ya got, I'll giv' 'em a look's see."

Lori Grimes drove them around and stopped at several small houses for sale and as much as they seemed appealing in way or another, none of them felt right for Daryl. They even drove back into town and ended up looking at a very tiny room, the one for rent on Baker Drive that Karen had mentioned and it was smaller than Daryl's bathroom at his trailer. Lori gave him an apologetic face and ushered him right out. They ended up back in front of the Buck Skin after hours of driving around and coming up with nothing to his liking. He sighed as they came to a stop and a sullen guilt plagued him as Lori fussed, trying to make him feel better. The late afternoon sun was slowly fading into the dusk and the Farmers Market was quiet and still, the few sellers left were closing up shop for the evening – street lamps casting faint illumination. She pulled her keys out and pocketed them as she climbed out of the car. "I'm so sorry we don't have what you want, Daryl. Is there anything I can do? Want me to check into rooms for rent in the next town over?"

He shut the door and took his truck keys out of his pocket. "Are ya sure ya friend, - that Carol lady would say no outright ta me?"

Lori pursed her lips and thought for a second and then glanced at her wristwatch. "Here's what I'll do, she's gonna murder me but - I'll give you Carol's cell phone number and you can call and talk to her yourself. She's been trying to find someone to rent it to for a few months now, maybe you can convince her to let you look at it. Call her now if you want. We still have time to drive out to her place if she agrees; Rick is working late anyways so I don't have dinner to make. Me and Carl usually eat at the Buck Skin on Saturday nights anyways. I actually have to go pick up Carl from his friend's house now and we'll come straight back here. If she says we can come out, me and Carl will go with you. How's that sound?"

"I can call her, sounds good." Daryl nodded and waited as she dug into her purse for her cell.

"Hand me your phone, I'll type it in for you."

Handing it over, she grinned when she slid it open with her thumb. "I kinda miss these simpler, easier, slider phones. You have the full keyboard too I see, nice. I swear - I can't manage to use this damn smart phone on most days. Definitely smarter than me. There you go."

He took his phone back and nodded as she got back into her S.U.V. Lori waved, and he lifted his hand in return then made his way over to his pick up once she drove away. Slamming the door shut he sighed, rolling the window down and lighting up a cigarette. The blonde girl, Beth, was back at her booth, putting things away and talking with the guy he'd met earlier, Glenn, and another woman with medium colored brown hair. The brunette had one hand tucked into the man's back pocket and he had his arm around her waist. Blowing out smoke, Daryl pressed the green send key on his phone and held it up to his ear. It only rang three times before a soft, feminine voice answered.

"Hello?"

He cleared his throat, "Um, hello, hi - this Carol?"

"Yes...this is she. Who is this?"

A quality Daryl couldn't decipher laced her tone, and he felt guilty, for what – he wasn't sure. "- I, uh, I got ya number from Lori Grimes? I'm interest'd in the attic ya got for rent?"

There was long a pause.

"Nope - not today - in fact, never - Goodbye."

The line disconnected. Pulling the phone back he shook his head and pressed the send key again. It rang longer this time before the woman picked up.

"I said no, doesn't that register? Doesn't _no_ mean anything anymore? Don't call back."

The woman on the line sounded leery, not pissed, so he tried again.

"Please, ma'am, jus' – can ya jus' hear me out 'fores ya hang up?"

There was a pause, a pause that lasted a full millennia and Daryl thought he heard papers being shuffled together. "You enjoy wasting people's time, is that it?"

"No ma'am," Daryl drawled softly, trying to keep her on the phone. "Look, Lori done drove me all o'er today an' I heard 'bout ya attic from a few people here in town, in Buckhead. I jus' wanna see it, if that's okay?"

Another pause, "No, - no that's not okay. I'm not renting a part of my home to some strange man and if Lori really is there with you, she would know this and also, she would call to ask me _herself_ to bring someone out to look at it."

"She had ta go for a minute but she's com'n back ta where I am." He chewed on his thumbnail and mumbled his next sentence a bit. "If'n ya let me com' an' take a look's see, an' meet me, won't be a stranger to ya no more."

"Even if I show it to you it will be a waste of my time and yours." The woman sighed and then sucked in a deep breath. "The attic doesn't have its own kitchen, so I'd be sharing kitchen space with whomever. There's a bathroom up there but the plumbing needs to be renovated so I'd be sharing my bathroom with the renter until it's fixed. This place is big, I'm sure you've heard, but there's only the two working bathrooms, and pipes are about ready to burst as it is. So – not renting to you. Nope, no way. That would not be comfortable for me at all."

He didn't wanna be one of those fucking douchecanoes that never took no for an answer. So, Daryl chewed on his thumbnail some more, thinking fast, for one last try. "How's 'bout ya consider rentin' ya attic ta my cat? See, I ain't so particular 'bout where I stay, hell, I can pitch a tent any ol' place outside, but he's real prissy an' dainty, ain't like gettin' his paws wet when it rains so's I'm sure he'd like the attic jus' fine."

Daryl cringed as the words came out, wondering why in the hell he wanted to see this woman's attic so badly. He figured he could just say to hell with it and start the process of buying one of those houses but something about the way everyone seemed to talk about her had him – intrigued. It was confusing him as he used Cat to maybe get inside this woman's house. When he had been forced to listen to Karen's gossip she has said the woman was old, but Daryl wasn't good at judging someone's age over a phone. He deliberated that maybe she was reluctant to rent to a man because of her age so he thought maybe he could convince her that having him around would scare off any threats, what those might be, he didn't know. And maybe, it was just the fact he was a man, and that made her uncomfortable, which Daryl understood. – she sure as fuck didn't sound old; her voice was tranquil and euphonious, and sort of soothing like a delicately constructed lullaby murmuring sweetly on the breeze after a steaming Georgia downpour.

"Your cat," She said a few seconds later, something akin to amusement laced in her voice. "You have a cat?"

"Yes ma'am I do. He's real messed up 'bout us movin' here an' I's been tellin' him I'd find us a nice attic ta live in."

"Why not just buy a house? Isn't that what people do when they move somewhere new?" She asked as he heard the sound of a screen door opening and shutting in the background. "That's what I did when I moved here."

Daryl glanced at the burned up butt between his fingers and went to drop it into his ashtray. "Lori Grimes tried 'er hardest but ain't nothin' I seen I was too thrilled about. I jus' got this new job an' I ain't wantin' ta buy a house yet till I know's I'ma be stickin' around. If I could jus' see ya place, jus' take a gander an' check it out I'd really 'ppreciate it."

"And Lori isn't with you now? She just left you wherever - ?"

"No ma'am," He sat up straight, hoping that was acquiescence he detected behind her question. "She went ta go pick Carl up? From a friend's house an' I stayed here in my truck in front o' the Buck Skin - she told me ta call an' see if you'd agree ta meet with me. If'n ya did, her an' Carl are gonna bring me on out."

"And she just gave you my number? Just like that?"

Daryl shifted in his seat. "'M sorry, that's kinda my fault. I bugged her 'bout ya attic…"

"I've been known to bug someone from time to time, I get that." The woman on the line was silent and in the background he heard the distinct array of ducks quaking and the melodic humming of the June bugs singing and pullulating as the late afternoon sun began to fade into the horizon. Finally, she spoke once more. "So - what's your name, cat man?"

He took his thumb away from his mouth and cleared his throat, "Daryl, ma'am, Daryl Dixon."


End file.
